


against the serrated edge

by canadino



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canadino/pseuds/canadino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They love dangerously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	against the serrated edge

_i. your father didn't really want to get you that glass of water when you were a kid_

Midorima Shintarou woke up at one-forty-one in the morning. It was completely dark outside still and he was wide awake, blinking with open eyes and sleep was miles away. The apartment was quiet and still. He felt he was somehow disrupting the peace as he folded the covers up from over him to allow him to slip into his slippers. His mother always said that one when could not fall asleep, a cup of tea was the solution.

He did not turn on the overhead lights in the kitchen, but instead switched on the counter ones nestled under the cabinets on the wall, flooding their small kitchen in a pale yellow light. The kettle would undoubtedly whistle so he filled the portable water kettle and set it on the counter. Midorima made it his mission to lay things carefully against the countertop so they did not clatter. He fished out the sleepy time tea from deep within the second cabinet with little noise.

They owned a modest collection of cups, glasses, and mugs, but as all roommates do, there were certain items of kitchenware that they each used exclusively. When they moved in together, they combined a hodgepodge of separate individual pieces with differing sentimental value: Midorima tended to take his coffee in the morning in his green mug and often ate quick snacks off a plastic plate his sister gave him for his birthday when she was five. Akashi favored a small bowl with a gold rim, a small crack on the corner that he had explained was from his clumsiness as a child, and the bowl was his mother's. He also was the sole user of an exquisite silver spoon with the Akashi family crest on the handle – though it was not because he had forbidden Midorima from using it, far so. "Use the damn thing, I couldn't care less," Akashi had said, but Midorima felt it would be sacrilegious to do so, spooning up soup and licking it off a spoon undoubtedly worth thousands of yen.

He ran his fingers along this very spoon, feeling its weight and decorated edges. He'd watched Akashi eat ice cream right out of the carton with this spoon once; the way Akashi balanced it along his fingers. He could not remember if Akashi had ever brushed his fingers along his sleeve with that same kind of attention to detail. Certainly Midorima had never experienced the way Akashi had worked the ice cream off the spoon, only knowing the way Akashi wrapped his tongue around complex lines of old poetry. He fished the spoon out of the cutlery drawer to get the sugar with.

They owned a large bowl-like mug, that until recently had been neutral and fair grounds. Midorima could not remember if he had first owned it or not. Akashi had taken a liking to it and often used it to drink soup from or to make his expensive loose-leaf teas. It required to hands to hold, one causing it to teeter dangerously. He had served Akashi tea in it when Akashi had fallen victim to the cold a few weeks back and had felt the slightly feverish tips of Akashi's fingers when he'd given it to him. Midorima ran a finger along the rim of the cup, thought about the way it had touched Akashi's lips.

The portable water heater clicked.

"What are you doing?" Akashi asked.

"Nothing," Midorima said, pouring hot water into the mug, watching the tea bag slowly unfurl dark brown swirls. He rethought about his answer. "I'm making tea," he said, looking up to where Akashi was watching him from around the corner. Akashi's face was a little fuzzy in the dark without his glasses. "I couldn't sleep so I'm making tea. I'm sorry if I woke you. Go back to sleep."

"Don't tell me what to do," Akashi said, yawning. Midorima had not heard Akashi open the door to his bedroom nor his footsteps down the hall. But he heard them as Akashi walked back down the hallway and the soft click of the door. Akashi had been looking at the way Midorima was stirring his tea with the silver spoon, in his favorite large mug. Midorima felt the very tips of his ears burn.

_ii. when I found my socks in your drawers I wondered what you were doing with them_

They had a washer and dryer unit in the apartment and to consolidate electricity and water use, they did not do laundry separately. They kept a large cloth hamper in their shared bathroom. They switched off every other week on who washed and dried the clothes. Midorima practiced the neat habit of taking his own clothes from the dryer and leaving neat piles of clean clothes on Akashi's bed. Akashi only did Midorima the service of leaving his clothes in a heap on his bed respectively.

They never mixed up each other's slacks, because it was painfully obvious who owned the longer, more neutral-colored tones. For the most part, their shirts were also always correctly separated, but when it came to their dress shirts and socks and sweaters, Midorima often found things of Akashi's on his bed and Akashi would leave the house with one of Midorima's jackets around his shoulders. These instances were met with unspoken conversations and Midorima's clothes would end up back in his room, gently worn, and vice versa.

Akashi found a pair of dark forest green boxers in his underwear drawer and knew they were not his. His underwear was either one of two brands and this underwear was unmarked. He thought about it and laughed a little to himself. He closed the drawer and promptly forgot about it.

After a long, well-deserved hot shower one evening, Akashi found himself pulling on these very same boxers. How curious. He laughed about it again. He had not even noticed what he had pulled out of his drawers before he had gone to the bathroom. Midorima would be making dinner right about now and would have his hands too full to fetch him another pair from his room.

"I heard you laughing in the bathroom," Midorima said, by way of asking, when he handed Akashi his bowl of rice from across the table.

"There was something funny," Akashi replied, by way of explanation and left it at that. Midorima was satisfied or did not want to pry.

"I found two pairs of your underwear on my bed," Midorima said. Akashi wondered briefly if this was some kind of test. "I put them back in your room." By the way Midorima was thoughtlessly bringing out dinner onto the table, Akashi knew he had not been figured out.

"Thank you," Akashi said.

Later, Akashi found a shirt of Midorima's in his drawers again. He must not have been paying attention when he was putting his clothes away. It was a Shuutoku high school basketball shirt. Midorima had gone to bed early because he had an early morning. Akashi did not want to wake him. He slipped the basketball shirt on and went to bed.

Cocooned by his comforter, Akashi found that along with the smell of their laundry detergent, there was a faint scent Akashi recognized to belong to Midorima. He shifted and noticed it was from the shirt. Midorima had worn this shirt against his skin in high school, and again later after college around the apartment afterhours. Akashi had never considered this before. The shirt was soft and well-worn against his back after years of use. Midorima would be familiar with the feel against his body. Akashi did not remember how Midorima's skin felt like from back in middle school.

He shifted onto his stomach and thought about the fact that Midorima had also worn the boxers too, against more private parts of his skin. There was a time Midorima had come out of the shower and had walked around a little bit trying to find a pair of clean pants and Akashi had seen the outline of his cock in his underwear and felt hot around the collar the entire night.

The cotton feel of the green boxers felt foreign against Akashi's skin as he thought about Midorima's dick between his legs.

"Have you seen my green pair of boxers?" Midorima asked in the morning. "It's dark green and I think it's got a plaid pattern or something."

"It's probably in the hamper or something," Akashi said without looking up from the newspaper. And it was true. The boxers were buried deep into the dirty clothes, quickly hand washed and blow dried with the hairdryer which Akashi had alternated between his hair and the underwear in the bathroom. "Why?"

"It's my lucky pair of underwear," Midorima said, which by any other ears would have sounded ludicrous, a grown man depending on an innocuous pair of underwear for luck. "Good things always happen when I wear them." He had been wearing them when he found Akashi in Tokyo again and proposed living together, under completely friendly terms. "I'm planning on something big today and I'd like to wear them along with bringing my lucky item."

"What are you doing to do today?" Akashi felt his skin flush from under his shirt and found that curious too.

"I was thinking of asking for a recommendation to fill the department head slot at the hospital," Midorima said, and Akashi felt a moment of disappointment. There was a sound of triumph in the bathroom. "I found them!" Midorima brought them into the kitchen and Akashi felt the creeping flush return. "I don't remember wearing them this week, but I don't remember everything. You won't think badly of me, will you?" But he did not wait for Akashi's answer, and anyway, Akashi was used to this kind of behavior from him. He was gone to change into them.

Akashi thought perhaps an early morning at the office was in order. Explaining to Midorima when he came out of the bathroom as to why his face was so pink would be a more harrowing prospect.

**Author's Note:**

> I hated the word serrated. My sister schooled me in it. I hate it. But I love pining akamido.


End file.
